FORK PLAY February 11, 2008
The Long Crunch: 40 Years at Dinner. Momofuko Ssam.
Dear Friends and Family,
Well, of course I was born to be a restaurant critic. As any man who has lived with me can tell you, I'm a born critic. I just needed to find my perfect target. Clay Felker knew it long before I. The brilliant driven creative power behind New York magazine -- the model for all city magazines to come and the maquette of the New York Times  daily feature sections - had an uncanny sensor for a writer's strengths. He loved writing. He surrounded himself with writers. He came back from lunches where he mined the dialogue of powerful companions for story ideas and compliments for his writers. Power fascinated him. And the power of New York table games amused us both, except of course when I sat in Siberia and let myself suffer the torture of watching La Grenouille's cookie plates go by, reserved exclusively for pets in the front Frog Pond. It was Clay's idea that I go to the snootiest restaurants in town and order only soup or a salad for lunch to see if I would be tossed out on the street or just mildly abused.
Gloria Steinem told me Clay was the first editor to let her write about politics. And indeed, Ms Magazine was born stapled into New York magazine. I remember editors sitting on waste baskets in the old Push Pin studios, our first office to make room for the Ms team.
New York celebrates its 40th year beginning in this week's special Anniversary Issue, where I look back on Orsini's, the romantic Roman villa where Dun & Bradstreet and the Social Register didn't matter. Front tables in the cosmetic key light from the street went to Armando Orsini's pets, the siliconed beauties and the fiercely loyal regulars. "Bella signorina," the captain would greet me with unabashed joy.
This happy birthday fuss means I am celebrating my 40th year as a restaurant critic, the only survivor on the masthead from 1968.
How loyal, one might say. How stubborn. How hungry. Though I asked to be replaced as the weekly critic in 2000 - done in by the deadline routine, I stayed to write my column, Insatiable Critic and then, frustrated and in desperate need of the serious pleasure of having the first word, if not the last, I started my blog and this newsletter.
It was definitely more fun being 40 than it is being 40 years a restaurant critic. I finally stopped lying about my age when I looked around and realized the dancing boys were 40 and 50 now. Click on BITE for that confession.
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Ssäm in a Pickle
Obviously neither peerage, racy thighs nor your status at the Waverly Inn means much at Momofuko Ssäm Bar where little black wooden boxes to sit on should ensure faster turnover.  I didn't rush to get the first or last word on this changeling child of fooderati idol David Chang. I just don't have the patience to hang out waiting for a table in restaurants that don't take reservations. But the friend joining us at nine had never eaten Chang's mostly Korean food (I'd tasted almost everything on the menu one day at the original Momofuko with an omnivorous troop in town for the Beard awards).
It was a fiercely cold winter night and I thought that might keep any number of spineless slackers at home blogging. Nine was a pretty good time. Tables started to turn but we weren't going anywhere "until your entire party is here." We huddled in a corner of this low-ceilinged room, blasted by loud music.
And then we waited another snort and a huff because two-tops are easier than threes and three doesn't really work at the counter. Would we like to stuff our three long-legged selves into a 24 inch square table for two? We finally settled at a half-occupied six with a trio of savvy Asian guys who clearly knew what to order. Then, despite the simmering annoyance, we began to enjoy dinner. Any meal that begins with big fat sea urchin from Santa Barbara on tapioca-whipped tofu has to be pretty evil to bring me down. And we were having a fine time with a big bowl of pickles. I forgot it was $10 worth of pickles and simply dug in, trying not to eat more than my share.
I didn't want to torture our friend on a cholesterol-fighting regime, but I insisted he taste two bites of Chang's signature pork belly on steamed Chinese buns with hoisin and scallion. Then he discovered he loved my sweetbreads too - grilled in spicy little cross section, detonated with pickled chilis and lime, seeming not very anatomical at all, though much too salty. At the other end of our table I spotted a weirdly wonderful toss of spicy pork sausage and rice cakes with Chinese broccoli (listed on the menu under "Etc'") and we had that too. Only the squid salad was disappointing, curiously blah.
I didn't expect to find splendid pan-sauteed skate with roasted fingerlings, preserved lemon and spicy aioli from Chang, but apparently the chef's original plan to sell only big fat Korean "burritos" called ssäm wasn't working. Indeed, a $21 hanger steak ssam with kimchi and Bibb lettuce struck me as a rip-off but then we didn't order the $180 Bo Ssäm - a whole butt with a dozen oysters.
Apparently ssäm fans are outraged and protesting that their "burrito" counter has turned into a place that serves pan-fried skate. As for me, I'd be back in a flash for the uni in tapioca tofu if I lived within walking distance.
207 Second Avenue at 13th Street. 212 254 3500
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Yesterday
If you're feeling nostalgic, click on Vintage Articles in the top navigator on insatiablecritic.com to see early New York reviews: The Ground Floor, La Côte Basque: Quintessential Soulé Food, The Mafia Guide to Dining Out, La Caravelle: Insult á la Carte, Brooklyn, Come Hungry..and more.
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Photos by Steven Richter may not be reproduced without permission.
Black and white photo by Dan Wynn.
Gael Greene Copyright pending 2008 |
